It Explains A Lot
by TimeIsPassing
Summary: Up until about 2 seconds ago, Scott had been 100% certain that Stiles knew. From the way his best friend reacted though, Stiles apparently hadn't known. Which, now that he though about it, actually explained a lot. That made Scott pause with a whole other realization, because if Stiles didn't get it, then Scott doesn't even want to guess what everyone else has been think about him.


Up until about 2 seconds ago, Scott had been 100% certain that Stiles knew. There was no way in the world the Stiles could _not_ know because, really, _it's Stiles._ If there was anyone in the world that Scott could count to know him— _everything about him, inside and out_ —it would be Stiles. In some ways, Scott is pretty sure Stiles knows him even better than he knows himself. His best friend just had a way of figuring things out about Scott before he even got a chance to himself. He'd just assumed that Stiles would know this too.

From the way his best friend reacted though, Stiles apparently hadn't known.

Which, now that he though about it, actually explained a lot.

Huh.

Stiles is sputtering half-formed words and sentences that even Scott can't make sense of, which is definitely a very bad indication, because Scott has been able to understand or at least interpret everything Stiles-related from the time they figured out how to use their vocal cords for something other than crying as babies.

It is a relief when Stiles finally gives up on trying to say anything and settles on very definite facial expression. Scott can roll with that and he definitely recognizes this one. It is the one usually reserved for when Scott tells him he may or may not have gotten bitten by a mythical creature or for the cases when the Sheriff dumps his heaping mound of vegetables on Scott's plate when his son looks away and tries to look angelic. Stiles face says vehemently, _You're bullshitting me right now and I'm not buying it._

"Bullshit." Stiles says. Scott can see his best friend gearing up for a rant. "Scott, we've been best friends since before birth. Don't argue. It is totally possible. Our moms hung out when they were pregnant with us, so by default, we were hanging out too. Anyway, I'm calling bullshit on this. There's no way I would have not known! I would have figured it out! I mean, I'm we're best friend. We're basically brothers! We were raised together! I was there when you said your first word and you were there when I said mine! We learned how to walk together! I taught you your ABCs! I saw you eat dirt when we were in 2nd grade and then again in 8th grade! We practically live together! We go to school together! We are together nearly ever second of every day. We even have all the same classes together!"

Stiles freezes and makes a squeak. Scott knows that squeak means too. It's the one Stiles reserves for when his epiphanies blindside him. He gives his best friend a minute to recover and sort it out.

"Oh my god. _We have_ _all the same classes together_." Stiles moans, head thumping on the wall behind him.

Scott pats his friend on the shoulder reassuringly, "It's okay, man. I could see how it could be confusing. I really thought you knew."

"When have I ever given _any_ _sign_ that I knew, Scott?" Stiles exclaims, throwing his arms out to motion with them in a way that Scott sadly understands.

Stiles's arms are gesturing in way that asks, " _Why didn't you say anything? How could you not tell me?_ " They even come with their own tone—betrayal. Because even if Stiles is looking all _disbelief-amazement-denial_ on the outside, the hurt that comes from thinking that your best friend— _your brother_ —held something back from him like this, doesn't always come with facial expressions and words. It does, apparently, come with Stiles maniac gesturing though. But only because it's Scott and he's basically an extension of Stiles so he gets it.

"It's not like that, Stiles. I honestly thought you knew. If there was any chance you didn't, I would have told you. It's just, you never gave any sign that you didn't know so I just assumed you did?" Which, Scott is starting to see, may have been a mistake. "But, come on, Stiles, I usually don't have to tell you these types of things. You usually already know anyway. I mean, you said it yourself, _we have the same classes_ and all of those classes, except PE, are _AP courses_. I've been on the Honor Roll every single semester with you."

Stiles sputters, "So from our class schedule and Honor Roll, you were just assuming I would figure out that you were some type of _genius_? I just thought you didn't want to leave me to suffer through them alone! Scott, buddy, you gotta see why I'm having a hard time believing this. I still can't believe half of the stupid shit you manage get us into and now you're telling me that, even with your idiotic tendencies and questionable reasoning and logic, your GPA that is higher than mine and Lydia's? AND that you got accepted to _Stanford_ with me on a _full-ride academic scholarship_?"

Scotty winces, both at the shrillness in Stiles voice—he's hitting notes here that he hasn't hit since puberty—and the admittedly fair point. Scott tendency to leap without thinking does make it look like he's not capable of any higher level of thought processes, reasoning, decision making, or deduction. It certainly doesn't help that Scott also has a tendency to drag Stiles with him during said leaps—much to both the Sheriff's and Scott's mom's consternation and relief—to witness the spectacular fail that usually results from them. But honestly, Scott has witnessed pretty much all of Stiles's disastrous moments too.

"You pull us into as much stupid shit as I do." Scott points out.

If Stiles was allowed to to have his questionable moments and still be an honest to god genius, then who is to say that the Scott can't be the same?

Stiles opens and closes his mouth, then walks back to the wall Scott had just steered him away from and proceeds to bang his head on it again. "I'd say you're a liar, but I know that you're a terrible liar. It is, at least, comforting to know that somethings don't change even if you are a _genius_ and that you're still mostly you."

The relief in Stiles's voice unsettles Scott, making him shift anxiously from foot to foot as he hovers behind his best friend. He doesn't know how to make Stiles understand that it really doesn't matter and nothing has changed. Stiles doesn't need to be questioning what he thinks he knows about Scott, because being a bit smarter than Stiles's apparently thought doesn't change who Scott is.

"I'm not _mostly_ me," Scott protests, "I'm just as me now as I was before I told you. And even if I was a good liar, I wouldn't lie to you anyways." Lying to Stiles was like lying to himself. Pointless.

"I know, Scott. I know. You'll always be the kid who was stupid enough to eat dirt _twice._ It's just… Oh my God." Stiles breathes, " _My best friend is a genius and I didn't even know_."

Scott winces at the word, _genius_. It just sounds so presumptuous. Scott would never use it to describe himself. Now, Stiles and Lydia on the other hand, both geniuses. Scott's elementary counselor may have called him, " _extraordinarily gifted"_ and his IQ, " _off the charts,_ " but Scott didn't like to think that that automatically equated him to genius status. Scott was just Scott, even if he now had to convince Stiles of that.

He gives Stiles time for this epiphany to sink in and apparently, that requires Stiles to repeatedly—though thankfully, gently—thump his head against the wall. When exactly this particular habit formed, Scott's not sure. He's about 57% certain though that he hadn't been present when Stiles had started doing this because there's no way in hell Scott would have let it become a thing for him. They've probably spent 98% of their lives together, so it would be Scott's luck that in the 2% of their existence that they were apart, Stiles would find the time to develop this particular disastrous and unhealthy habit.

Scott still couldn't believe how long it took him to notice.

" _Dude, I've ALWAYS don't this since I was a kid. Dad said he tried to stop me for a while, even went as far as stapling pillows to all the walls of the entire house as preventive measure. He gave up when I started on the doors. It's not like it hurts or anything. Just helps me think, I guess."_

Scott clearly remembers the aftermath of that particular conversation. The entire world seemed to turn on its axis for a moment at the utter disbelief and amazement that he had not know that his best friend—the one person in the world that Scott thought he knew, inside and out—apparently walked around and banged his head on walls _because it helps him think_. Needless to say, it had been enough to trigger a panic attack AND an asthma attack.

If that was anywhere close to what Stiles was going through right now, Scott figures his best friend deserves to indulge in his unfortunate habit. It makes Scott feel guilty all over though for making him need it.

"I'm sorry, Stiles." He says earnestly, "I really though you knew. It is not like I was trying to hide it or anything. I just really thought you knew."

It still blows Scott's mind that Stiles didn't know. It just didn't seem possible, because sometimes, it feels as though Stiles not knowing something about Scott makes Scott question if he even knows it about himself. It inspires a new type of headache that Scott was sure werewolves were immune to to start asking the whole, _"Am I smart? Am I sure I'm smart? Do I know that I know for certain that I'm smart? If Stiles hadn't even noticed, then how could I possible be smart?"_

Scott doesn't know what to make of the fact that it apparently took zero deception to apparently look like an idiot. Which okay, it is totally possible to be a genius and an idiot and Scott was definitely both, but really?

He can't believe they've managed to survive 16 years of their lives with this type of misunderstanding. Scott wonders if he should be more offended by Stiles's initial disbelief and continued surprise about his above average intelligence. It was apparently the opposite of what his best friend had been thinking all along. Right now though, all Scott can think about is how it all—his whole life, his decisions, his leaps, and their friendship—must look like from Stiles's perspective.

Scott had dragged Stiles along with him on his escapades and Stiles had let himself follow, even if he thought his best friend may or may not have been short a couple neurons in his frontal lobe. It must have looked crazy and unreasonable and inevitably disastrous each time Scott asked him to make one of his infamous leaps with him. And yet, Stiles had trusted him—and probably Stiles's own considerable intelligence—to get them out of whatever disaster they'd land in and leap anyway.

Considering that Stiles hadn't even known that Scott was well above the average standard of intelligence himself, each jump had literally been a leap of faith and trust. Without knowing the Scott was a genius in his own right, there was no way Stiles could have possibly known that each time Scott had asked him to jump, Scott had done so having already calculated the angle of descent, the velocity of the impact, the probability of outcome and potential landing sites, to know that when he asked Stiles to jump, he did so knowing that Stiles would be safe. Stiles hadn't known any of that, but he'd jumped anyway, every single time.

If Scott were still capable of asthma attacks, he'd be reaching for his inhaler right now.

Stiles is still banging his head on the wall trying to make sense of his own epiphany while Scott is going through his own. He doesn't even pause as he says, "I know you didn't try to hide it, Scotty. You're terrible at all forms of deception, genius or not. I just can't believe _I_ didn't know. If _anyone_ should have known, it should have been _me_."

And those words make Scott pause with a whole other realization, because if _Stiles_ didn't get it, then Scott doesn't even want to guess what everyone else has been thinking about him.

When he voices that particular though to Stiles, it is enough to get his best friend to stop banging his head on the wall long enough to shoot him a look that is equally offended and disbelieving. Scott winces, because yeah, if Stiles didn't get it, then there is no way anyone else did either.

Huh. It explains a lot.

…

The Sheriff comes home to both his boys—one his biologically and one his by everything else—banging their heads against the wall.

He takes a moment to feel relieved that the habit isn't a genetic predisposition, because Scott is family in all ways but blood and if he's doing it too then it can't possibly be the result of some genetic defect in Stiles. It must be something else. The horror starts to set in with that realization.

If this insane habit was not a genetic issue than it must have come from some environmental factor affecting both the boys.

God. Now he can't even blame his wife for passing on this insane habit to Stiles with her X chromosome, because Scott was doing it now too and that could only mean that all of this was somehow his fault and possibly, maybe, hopefully Melissa's fault too. They were the ones who had raised Scott and Stiles together. _This was somehow the product of their parenting._

The Sheriff contemplates joining the boys in this particular habit for his own selfish reasons. He'd rather knock himself unconscious than have Melissa do it for him when she finds out that _his son_ has infected _her son_ with this apparent need to bang their heads on walls _to think_.

Leave a comment if you would like me to continue this story! I actually have more written that I might expand on so let me know!

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